Darksiders: Seven Deadly Sins
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Perhaps there were not seven sins but fourteen. Fury didn't care. Someone had beaten her to the kill, and that was all that mattered.


**Seven Deadly Sins**

"What is this place?"

"I believe it's called the Temple of the Firstborn, mistress."

"Hmm." Fury stretched out a hand to one of the walls, returning with her gauntlet covered in dust. "Don't see much evidence of worship."

Her Watcher said nothing and Fury scoffed. Worship. There was only the Creator, and He had shown himself unworthy of devotion, despite the insistence of some angels, or the feeble minds of Men. Many sought to worship Him in their own way. Across Creation, Fury had come to realize that "the many" tended to be idiots. Simpletons who couldn't even entertain her before she either tore them apart limb from limb, or delivered them to the Charred Council for more eternal, and often more painful judgement. She served the Council. She rode as one of the Four. But unlike the many, she would not lick their boots. Not those glowing skulls, and not some Creator that had abandoned His creation.

Not that this temple was giving praise to the Creator, she noticed. It didn't seem to be giving praise to anything. Granted, at regular intervals on the walls, she could see murals of two individuals – one an angel, one a demon, hands entwined and eyes locked. They didn't appear to be the subject of worship, but clearly they were figures of importance to the people who had built this place. And it gave her heart pause to think of the one race across Creation that could give praise to angel and demon alike.

"Mistress? You linger?"

She shook her head and continued down into the gloom.

"Is everything well?"

"Shut your mouth and speak when necessary."

"I have no mouth mistress, but I shall nonetheless oblige."

She glared at the Watcher. The Watcher looked back through her blank eyes, situated above a mouthless, featureless face. There was a saying from the Third Kingdom that asked who watched the watchers. Fury didn't know. But if the race of Man knew the answer, she wouldn't mind hearing it.

She kept walking down into the gloom of the temple that was looking less and less of a temple, and more of an abattoir. She frowned, seeing the bodies of demons littering the floor, along with, much to her surprise, humans. This world wasn't the Third Kingdom. This world had only just recently come to the attention of the Charred Council. And yet, the children of Eden and Earth called it home apparently. Them, and a whole lot of demons.

"It looks like someone beat you to it mistress," the Watcher said.

She glared at the sprite.

"I don't mean to suppose that any could do the job better than you-"

"But you do suppose," Fury snapped. "And already you have forgotten that I ordered you to speak only when necessary."

"But if it's possible that one of your brothers-"

"Have taken my glory?" Fury snapped, quickening her pace. "Has one of those boot-lickers beaten me to it, so that they may bask in the Council's favour?"

"It is possible, mistress."

Fury gave one of the demons' bodies a kick. It had been torn apart, but she couldn't identify the source of the damage. No sword, no scythe, no bullet – perhaps one of her brothers had gotten creative. Or perhaps the Council's opinion of her was so low that they'd sent her as a maid, cleaning up demons after another had done the job for her. Scowling, she walked up to the giant wooden doors before her. With a single kick, they burst open.

"Could you not have used your hands?" the Watcher asked.

"One more word out of you and you'll find my hands around your throat."

"An empty promise mistress, as I do not breathe." Fury glared at the Watcher. "But nonetheless, I shall endeavour to remain quiet."

"Well do give it your best shot. We can't all be one of the Four." She walked into the chamber. _Or Three._

Someone had beaten her to it, she reflected. The body of the demon before her was testament to that. Larger than any of its kin, but slain in the same way. Kneeling down, Fury stuck her hand into one of its wounds, bringing the blood to her nose.

 _Magic. Lots of it._ She studied the demon's body. _This pitiful creature is what threatened the Balance?_

"Who goes there?"

She sprung up, grabbing her whip. The Watcher, much to her relief, didn't say "we're not alone" or something equally obvious.

"Speak," Fury demanded, her blazing eyes scanning the gloom.

There was no answer.

"In the name of the Council and the Four, reveal yourself!"

"I know only one Council," the voice said. "I have abandoned them."

"Have you now?" She spun around, looking for the sound of the voice. Listening to the sound of footsteps.

"I know also of the Four. The Lesser Evils. You however, are not one of them."

"I am of the Four!"

"There is but one maiden of the Four. And she is part of the Lord of Terror."

"Stop speaking nonsense lest my whip find your tongue."

There was no answer this time. But out of the gloom, she found the sound of the voice. The one clad in golden armour, with sword of silver, and eyes as old as Creation itself. "An angel?" Fury asked.

"Once an angel. Now…less."

Fury looked at the man before her, tilting her head to the side as she examined him. She'd dealt with angels before. Even killed a few of them – for all their supposed righteousness, angels were just as willing to break the Balance as demons, only they tended to be more subtle about it. But this man, this angel…less was indeed the word she reflected. He was without wings. His essence was dimmed. In a sense, she reminded her of the children of the Third Kingdom. Weak, and dwarfed by races more mighty and ancient. Yet the man before her…he _was_ ancient. Older even than she.

"Who are you?" Fury asked.

"Tyrael," the stranger said. "And what name is yours, nephalem?"

"Nephalem?" She sniggered. "Neph _ilim_."

"Hmm." The one named Tyrael took a step closer. "Yes. Indeed. Similar but different."

"Similar? There are only four of us!" She sighed, suppressing memories of times when there were more than the Four, and Creation all the worse for it. "Has one of my brothers come this way?"

"No brother," the one named Tyrael said. "A sister, perhaps?" He nodded towards the corpse of the demon. "Do you like her handiwork?"

Fury scowled – so someone _had_ beaten her here. A nephalem, or nephilim, or whatever the hell this supposed angel was yammering on about.

 _Could there be others?_

If so, it could mean disaster. She had little love for her brothers. Less for the Council. But if any of her misbegotten kin had survived…

"Which demon is this?" the Watcher asked.

Fury let her pop up and put herself in front of Tyrael. She'd let the sprite do the talking. She needed time to think – a thought terrifying in of itself.

"Which demon?" Tyrael asked.

"We are here on command of the Charred Council – a demon has come to this world, threatening the Balance."

"The Balance," Tyrael chuckled. "The Balance has long been lost on this world, and this demon could do little more to tip the scales in favour of chaos." He sighed. "You are clearly both learned and ignorant."

"Excuse me?" Fury asked.

"But his name was Vidian, Lord of Envy. One of the Sin Lieutenants."

"The…what?" Fury blurted out. "You mean the Seven Deadly Sins?"

"If that is what you call them."

"Preposterous," Fury snapped. "Envy is the weakest of the Seven and nothing at all like this beast. And all Seven are kept in the chains of the Charred Council."

"Then perhaps the Seven are actually fourteen," Tyrael said. "Or my demons and your demons are different."

"Perhaps," Fury said. "But why are you here, angel? Why should I not take you to my masters as evidence of Heaven's disruption of the Balance?"

"Mistress…" the Watcher began.

"No," Fury said. "I come here, across worlds, and I find that a nephilim, sorry, _nephalem_ , has done the job for me. And all I have for my efforts is an angel who looks frail enough to up and die before me."

Tyrael chuckled, his laughter echoing throughout the temple.

"What?" Fury snapped.

"Oh," he said, sighing. "You remind me of one I know. The one who came before you. The one…" He trailed off, a look of worry on his face. "The one for whom I fear more with each passing day." He met Fury's gaze. "You remind me of her, my lady. Your anger is on the surface, while hers bubbles underneath. In a sense, I find that comforting."

"You think I give a damn about your comfort?"

"No," Tyrael said. "In that, you are honest. But of the one like you, I fear what festers underneath."

"And I'm past caring," Fury snapped. She looked at her Watcher. "Come sprite. We shall return to the Council and tell them that their demon is dead." She paused. "And that I struck the killing blow."

"Mistress, that's-"

"They shall know I did the deed and praise me for it. And in that knowledge, they shall perhaps give me more assignments worthy of my talent."

"Mistress, I-"

"Silence sprite."

The Watcher fell silent, but she felt ill at ease. Slowly, she looked at Tyrael, who was frowning.

"What?" she snapped.

"Envy," he said. "Pride too, by the sound of it. Perhaps even lust for greater glory."

Fury said nothing.

"As someone who has fought demons since the dawn of Creation, I can only advise that you take care, lest their vices become your own."

"You think I care about your advice?"

"No," Tyrael said. "Which is a shame."

"A shame?"

"Yes. For one cannot rise when shackled by vice."

Scowling, Fury turned about and headed out of the chamber. Towards the surface. Towards her steed, and the portal that would lead her out of this world. Walking in silence. Her Watcher keeping that silence.

And that damned angel's words ringing in her ears.


End file.
